Summary: Set about a year after Not Fade Away. Angel's not happy, neither is Buffy. But she comes to town and needs his help and he just needs her. Not a great summary, but let me know if I should finish it up. Buffy/Angel pairing

Disclaimers: Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon own it all.

Feedback: Appreciated


The sound of her shoes hitting the pavement as she ran comforted her. The methodical slapping of her soles on the hard surface, so familiar. She turned onto the grass and continued to run at a fast clip. She thought she might like the feel of the soft, damp grass as it gave way beneath her pounding stride even better. It cushioned her steps and the dull thud gave her a false feeling of being cocooned in cotton; safe, unbreakable. She hit the gravel at an even faster gait and threw up small bits of sharp rock that hit her calves. The sting of pain that it caused made her catch her breath for a moment. Then she laughed out loud. It was good to feel the points of pain. To feel something, anything other than her confusion. It felt real, it felt like life. She didn't need to hold anything in while she ran, didn't need to hide her feelings. Sometimes all the jumble of emotions was too much for her so she just tried to turn them all off. And it was getting harder to do.

She continued her run, it was close to midnight now and for anyone else this would be considered insane. A petit blond out for a late night run in a very dangerous part of town. But she wasn't just anyone, she was the slayer. Well, one of the slayers. There were so many now. She had become just one of the many. Of course, she had died twice and saved the world – a lot. But that was in the past and this was now and really, who remembered?

She knew she was feeling sorry for herself. She did that sometimes, reliving the glory days and missing the fact that she used to be special. The days of her former self. She never spoke of it aloud. And she never let it show around the others. She was always trying to live down the immature, whiney ways of her youth. But late at night, when she was running, these ugly, pity-me thoughts would run through her mind. The only way to rid herself of them was to run harder. Run harder or kill something. And there didn't appear to be anything to kill, so she ran.


She felt him watching her. She'd been in town a week and had started running almost immediately. And every night he was there. They could feel each other, always could. But he didn't approach her and she didn't try to find him. It was funny – they were funny. So in love yet still so distant, so far away. She had come as far as the wharf and ran to the end of a dock, the wood pilings echoing, vibrating with each new step she took. When she reached the end of the dock, she turned.

She saw him standing next to a pylon, his hands in the pockets of the black leather coat he wore. All in black, as usual. How not surprising was that? She slowed as she came near.

"You really ought to try navy sometime Angel. Or brown, I read that brown is the new black." She bent over to tighten her shoestring.

"Didn't think you'd be surprised to see me." It was a flat statement, his jaw clenching as he spoke. "Why are you doing this?"

She was as beautiful as he remembered, a little thinner perhaps, but no less lovely. Her muscles much more defined, her hair a bit longer. But she hadn't seemed to age in the passing few years and her scent was the same, he could find her during rush hour in New York City. He thought back to his conversation with his demon friend.

It had set his thoughts in motion, but how to make this work? He still hadn't figured it out, but he would.

She looked up at him with distain. "Doing what? Running? I run, so what? I know this is your city to protect and all, but do I need to get a permit from you to go running? I see your ego hasn't changed. It's great you can count on a few things to stay the same."

She stood up to her full height of 5'3" and continued. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm keeping you. Don't you have important apocalypse-type stuff to get to? Were you going to tell me about it, ask me to, oh I don't know…help? Or were you going to save the world, die, maybe come back from the dead and then give me a call? Oh, wait. That's Spike, isn't it? Sorry, you and your kin do that kind of stuff. You die, come back and keep it all to yourself, except maybe tell Andrew. I have to be honest Angel, didn't think Spike had it in him to be all self-sacrificing Angel-like. Guess it's the angsty-soul thing. Your blood does run deep. Glad you averted a new apocalypse, though." She hated the way her voice sounded to her ears, but she couldn't seem to stop the avalanche she was spewing.

She paused to take a needed breath before she continued. "Been to Italy lately? Lurking in the shadows, as usual? No 'Hi Buff, what ya been up to? Why ya hanging with the Immortal?' NOTHING! Just assume the worst. Well, fuck you Angel, I owe you no explanations, no answers, nothing."

Angel had to stop himself from smiling. He was still amazed how she could take so many events, so many hurts, and cram them all into disjointed yet understandable, at least to him, paragraphs. He had really missed that.

She turned away from him and stretched, getting ready to resume her run. He watched her movements, so sure in her body, in her abilities. No fear. He smelt anger, frustration, even desire, but no fear.

Buffy looked up at him, one last time. She couldn't resist. She had to see his face, the face of the only man she had ever loved. "I gotta go. Stop following me, Angel. I've done without you for five years; I think I can handle a little run in the dark."

She tried to pass by him, but his hands snaked out faster then she had anticipated. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. His mouth descended brutally onto hers, wanting herto retract all the harsh and bitter words that he knew he deserved. But also wanting to punish her, punish her for living a life without him. He succeeded in taking her breath away. Buffy opened her mouth to take in a gulp of air and Angel took the opportunity to push his tongue in, invading her soft recesses with his deep probing. He had almost forgotten how sweet she tasted. That taste, along with the slickness of her body almost pushed him over the edge of reason.

Buffy's arms wound around his neck as she pulled herself up to wrap her legs around his waist, all the while deepening her kiss. This was crazy, a far away voice told her, but she couldn't stop it. Didn't want to stop it. Soul be damned, it had been so long, the Master himself couldn't tear her away from Angel right now. She felt almost disjointed from her body, as if she could see what was happening, but she was unable to do a thing about it but feel.

His hands molded themselves to her backside, pulling her as close as their clothes would allow. Her legs were tightly wrapped around him and he could feel the intense heat she was radiating. He had to have her and he knew he couldn't…shouldn't. What if Doyle was wrong? She moaned and that sealed their fate. Angel lost control of any thought he had.

She moaned against him. God how she missed this, missed him. The feel of him, the scent of him. Despite all that had happened in the intervening years, this man was her mate. She pulled slightly away from Angel, earning a growl in response. She looked deeply into his eyes and threw her head back, opening up to him. Granting him access to the place that still held his mark. It was an unspoken invitation for him to drink from her.

He felt his willpower ebb away. He knew this wasn't right, but he couldn't deny himself of her any longer. He loved her, he needed her and if this was the only way he could have her, so be it.

Buffy couldn't wait. If she had to beg him to take her she would. Right now she felt that she needed this more than life. "Please Angel. Please."

Her pleading was his undoing. He pressed his lips to her neck, running his tongue along his mark. Then he released his demon. As he bit into her she tightened her grip around his waist, feeling the cascade of sensations begin to take her under. He turned them so Buffy's back was supported by the pylon as he opened his pants and pushed her running shorts aside. They ripped, but neither of them noticed. He thrust into her as he drank. Buffy muffled her scream in his shoulder as she bit down, tasting his blood and welcoming his invasion. Neither one knew how much time had past, nor if time had just come to a standstill, and when she came in a furious explosion, calling his name, Angel erupted into her at the same time.

If anyone was looking at the couple mating they would have be left speechless, not just by the picture of unadulterated lust they painted, but by the waves of color emanating from their locked bodies. Swirls of greens and yellows, diaphanous and billowing, were pulled upinto the air around them, to be swollowed up by the ether. But neither noticed, too intent on each other.

It was unadulterated carnal sensation. The need, the hunger. Pure animalistic lust. They both fell to the ground, numb to the wooden splinters and the dirt. When she could finally focus Buffy looked at him.

"Angel?" He could hear the fear in her voice.